It started with drinks the other night. Then last night I has a great time catching up with the Greater Boston Young Dems, made some new acquaintances, and made sure to get the ball rolling on having dinner and/or drinks with people I don’t see nearly enough of. There are also plans in the works for another karaoke night, two weekend trips north (one to Kat’s family and one to my own), a dip party (thrown by other friends), a Bond movie marathon (thrown by yours truly), and a Pirate tour. Of course, this all already planned out.

This year I want more picnics, more lazy Saturdays. I want to actually walk the Freedom Trail, without ending up at Beantown Pub and missing the whole rest of the tour. I want to go to a baseball game (how have I been here for almost a year without seeing the Red Sox yet?!) and finally make it out to the museums (I haven’t been to the Boston museums since I was a kid). I want to go out to the Cape at some point, I haven’t been in years.

I want to read more books this year and see more movies (thankfully Kat and I have resolved to that one together). I want to save money and pay off more and more of my debt. I want to be debt free, if not this year, soon. I want to tour the campuses at Harvard and MIT, just because they’re so gorgeous. I want to go watch the Head of the Charles Regatta, and stay awake through the whole Boston Marathon this year.

What do you want to do this year? How is 2012 going to be your year of doing things?

When I lack sleep, the consequences are immediate and obvious. My mood turns sour no matter who I’m near, any concentration and memory retention (which I have problems anyway) disappear entirely, I feel aggressive and angry at the drop of a hat, and I have no balance in my battle with Bipolar Disorder. Fighting such a disorder on a daily basis requires concentration, energy, and calm. I have none of those things, and so I tend to throw my hands up in defeat and tell the BP “Okay, have fun, run free for a few days, I give up for now.” I continue to do my work (both at my job and outside of it in my volunteer roles) to the best of my ability, I get out of bed in the morning (which is an extreme challenge with those Chemicals running amok), I try to be supportive of friends and family, and I put what little energy I have leftover into my attitude, because if I break down and yell at my boss in frustration and exhaustion, I’m in deep trouble!

So yeah, that’s my week. Luckily this doesn’t happen often. I protect my sleep hours (even on the weekend) with all of me, trying to get at least 7 1/2 hours a night. But, what’s the point of putting all this in a post? Last night, while I was tossing and turning and unable to fall back asleep after one of my wake-ups (was it the loud noise or the sick cat that time?), I had a bit of a dream. I dream in incredibly vivid detail. And this dream has me thinking today.

In it, I woke up in what I thought was our bed. Piece was there and everything was normal. But it was our bed in a different room, in a different apartment, one that, as I got my bearings I was completely unhappy with. There were people living there with us, family and friends and strangers, a lot of noise and activity, and I just needed to get ready for work without having a total panic attack about the situation. Piece said he’d moved us there because it seemed like an awesome idea. I couldn’t articulate what I found so awful and obvious about the situation, so I tried my best to get ready and get out before I freaked out. I woke up feeling disoriented after this dream, but feeling like maybe I know what it was trying to tell me.

I think, and this tends to be the way my dreams go, Piece represents Boston. Piece is the reason I’m in Boston today. I may not have moved here to be with him, but since we’ve been back together, he is my reason for staying, for building a life here. I’m sure he represents Boston in my dreams. I think this dream was about the feeling that since moving to Boston – where life is chaotic and making friends is difficult and I feel like none of my history or experience does me any good – I have felt that my life is out of my control. Not out of control but out of my control. The distinction is important. It’s not that things are falling apart or anything, it’s that… I feel so little direction, so little confidence, so little control. I feel like the forces of Boston just sort of whirl around me, pushing and pulling as they feel like. And I think, without sleep and with so much work and with uncomfortable Chemicals flooding my brain, this week, it just feels like it’s getting to me.

It’s like when a friend tells me that I’m obviously faking how much I enjoy being around them, that I must hate them, I don’t want to argue anymore. When people tell me I’m not good enough for something I want to say “Okay, so I’m not, can I go nap now instead?”. I want to stop fighting so hard for this life that I’ve always lead, and just say “Okay Boston, we don’t like each other, but we have to put up with each other, I get it, so give me a break.”

I want my life here, I love Boston, I want to build a life in this city, so please don’t get me wrong. I’m just wondering, when do we get to the part that dreams and reality become one? When does the struggle calm and the voices in my head shut up?

I once wrote (I miss this feeling): I’m in love. I’m tired of thinking love has to be something that constrains you and makes you obligated. Instead, I’m in love with the music. The sound of a banjo in a dive bar back room, a kid with an amazing set of pipes just wailing on his acoustic as if there’s no one in the room, the rockstar life style of up all night every night random drives through the city lights… I’m in love. It’s addictive. It’s scary. Nothing feels like this. No high, no drink, no kiss… I love the people who have become part of my life because of it, I want nothing but this.

I know, it’s been too long. Due to internet woes of the server sort, vacation, and then my temp assignment in being ended (I’ve been on extended vacation for the last week) – I simply haven’t been motivated to write anything of any kind. Yes, I’ve spent the last week unemployed and with nowhere to write on the internet. Poor me. Though I did not use the time to work on other writing projects as I’d hoped, I did do a bunch of reading, spend some time with wonderful new friends exploring Boston, actually digging into the tumblr platform and G+, and cleaning the apartment. Thrilling life I lead, isn’t it?

In my Boston wandering this week, I’ve had the pleasure of trying some new things that I’d been wanting to do since moving here in March. Indian food, for example. I love Indian food. There are few dishes in the world I love more than saag, and living in Southern Virginia there was a noticeable lack of certain ethnic restaurants (I suppose only noticeable if you were looking for them, but I absolutely was). I craved curry, Afghan kabobs, saffron, late-night Chinese take-out (not one take-out place that didn’t serve pizza stayed open later than midnight). Needless to say, it felt a bit like the food Sahara (not that the food they have down there isn’t amazing – I would give up a few toes for a Brickhouse calzone most days!). And now I’m in Boston – land of Irish dinners and hookah bars, Little Italy and Chinatown. And I’d only had Indian food once since moving. Friday I had the worst craving for chicken saag, curry, jasmine rice! Dragging the boyfriend away from the comfort of home, we did our research and ended up in a gorgeous window table at Mela in South End (an area of the city I only know thanks to friends’ homes, I don’t know much about the theater district or happy hour score there). I don’t know that I’ve ever had better saag, and thanks for Foursquare I got to try their mango lassi for free! Yogurt, juice, ice… Tasted like a melted mango creamsicle, and it was perfect. A split bottle of wine and way too much food later, my exotic craving was finally down to a dull roar and I got to check something else off of my Boston list!

As a child, I spent time in the Boston Common at Christmas, checking out the Nativity scene and the Christmas trees – I always loved the place. As an adult, I spent hours in Dupont Circle, lying in the grass reading, writing, chatting with friends, listening to music. In DC, I always pictured the same thing happening in Boston, but had never had the pleasure. Yesterday, due to much frantic Facebook planning, I met up with a bunch of friends and had a picnic in the Public Garden. Hours spent in the shade, by the water, watching ducks and talking books, eating good food with a wonderful group of people. I wish I could that feeling of peace into words, but as we packed up and headed to a German bar for beer and dinner, the feeling swept over me and I reveled in the idea of doing it again over and over. Another Boston-centric wish checked off my list.

When I moved here I was so certain I would have the life I’d always wanted. Intellectual and involved, successful professionally and personally. It didn’t start out that way, though, and I found myself frustrated and depressed. How did it not just happen the moment I moved? It had never taken more than a couple of weeks for me to find my niche in a new place. Europe, DC, even Newport News. I made these places home as someone collects DVDs. Lined them all up in my heart as things I loved and needed and people who surrounded me with support and laughter. But here, it’s been taking work, and that was a new experience. Now that it’s happening, that I have people I can text when I’m bored or go see a movie with on a whim, people who are getting to know me and bartenders who know my name… it feels amazing. It feels like home is a concept that requires earning, as opposed to just sweeping into the room and making it my own. It feels good. Boston feels good.

In November, I wrote a list out of things I was grateful for, from the small to the profound, and I find that it’s a wonderful way to boost your confidence in the everyday. This list included the phrase: “Knowing that Boston still stands & I can always go home.”

I have a bad habit of mentally longing for easier places to live – places where I already know the social & economic landscape (Maine); or where I have the comfort and familiarity of family and friends (South Carolina or Southern Virginia); places that miss me as much I miss them (DC); places that afford me a no-strings-attached approach to life (Rome or Paris or some other exotic, impossible locale). I have trouble, mentally, internally, giving Boston enough credit. And so here we go, after the jump, a list of things I’m grateful to Boston for, to get me through this short-week version of a hump day:

A lack of humidity. Caring and hilarious co-workers. The opportunity to be involved in a community & government that actually cares about green/environmental issues. Insightful friends. The Young Dems, who have welcomed me with open arms & minds despite my two decades of volunteering/working with the Dark Side (& the awesome members of the Greater Boston Young Dems who voted me in to be their Secretary!). The chance to reconnect with friends & family from Maine (whom I haven’t visited in over three years now). The relief that writing honestly can bring. People who appreciate you & your work & say as much. Boston.com’s Love Letters (advice columns are a guilty pleasure of mine, this is one of the more entertaining I’ve ever discovered). Fort Point. Finally being able to claim Dorchester By Choice (DBC) – proudly. Sharing a home with the love of my life, a relationship that I doubt I will ever be able to justify with language. Being close to the water again (I grew up near coastal Maine, the smell of the ocean is a must have for my mental clarity & strength. Boston brings me close enough every day). Tall buildings (they simply do not exist anywhere else I’ve lived & there is something so beautiful about them). The Commons. Dorchester Day. Sidebar. Irish pubs that you can actually hear Irish accents in. A bustling, delicious Little Italy in the North End (DC doesn’t have a Little Italy! The tragedy!). Friends who will pick you up on a Sunday afternoon just to take your lazy butt grocery shopping because you don’t have a car. Sunday night dinner parties & BBQs galore. The State Democratic Convention, where I had a complete blast. Scholar’s. The amount of history I walk by every single day just getting to work. The campus at U Mass Boston, which is a nice languid walk from my apartment; Harbor Point is one of my favorite places in the city.

“There is a particular kind of pain, elation, loneliness, and terror involved in this kind of madness. When you’re high it’s tremendous. The ideas and feelings are fast and frequent like shooting stars….But, somewhere, this changes. The fast ideas are far too fast, and there are far too many; overwhelming confusion replaces clarity. Everything previously moving with the grain is now against–you are irritable, angry, frightened, uncontrollable….It will never end, for madness carves its own reality.” – Kay Redfield Jamison

Last week, when news broke that Catherine Zeta-Jones had sought treatment for Bipolar II Disorder, a dear friend sent me a BBC article before the news had even hit my Twitter feed. It’s not often someone of international prominence comes out and announces that they suffer from a mental illness (perhaps with the exception of addiction). It’s even more rare that someone announces they suffer from a mental illness that I also live with.

While CZJ has been diagnosed Bipolar II, as has 18 year old Disney star Demi Lovato (talk about brave – an 18 year old girl coming out as receiving help for eating disorders, self harm, and Bipolar II, that is some serious courage on her part), I have lived with Bipolar I Disorder* most of my life. Diagnosed with Panic Disorder & Bipolar I as a teenager, I was incredibly proud of both ladies last week for opening up about the disease and, whether they meant to or not, starting a dialog about mental illness. According to WCVB Boston, the condition is underdiagnosed in America, but some celebrities have ‘come out’ over the years to increase awareness:

“…celebrities like Jane Pauley, Carrie Fisher and Linda Hamilton have helped to raise awareness and decrease the stigma. There has been much speculation that actor Charlie Sheen could have the condition.”

So, why is it, that I’ve never spoken about it here at atlimbo? My friends and family have all known for years, I’ve struggled with medications, addictions, relationships, focus – it’s not a very easy secret to keep, and so I just never tried. But to write about it so specifically, so personally, here where everything will live forever in Google cache… It’s daunting. Scary, in a way. I admire these women, I believe that Charlie Sheen desperately needs to see a psychiatrist, I keep up with the news coming out of NAMI and I participate in online communities for people with these illnesses. I’ve been educating myself about BD, schizophrenia, sociopathy, depression, addiction, obsessive compulsive disorder, self-harm, and all manner of other chemical imbalances since I was a kid. And yet, I don’t know how to write about it in any real way. I don’t know how to tell the story of my diagnosis, my trials and errors with medication and other treatments.

I know that in many ways I’m lucky. My family has never been anything but supportive and while Bipolar I has a higher instance of hospitalization and suicide and yet here I am, nearly 27 and I can keep a job, have a conversation with a stranger, keep my own home in order, and I’m slowly but surely learning how to sustain relationships. This last one is my biggest struggle. There are a lot of stories online about failed attempts and outrageous statistics. I’m contemplating therapy in my new hometown and my boyfriend is as supportive and understanding as they come – he’s seen me through many of my phases in the nearly ten years we’ve known each other, and that comes in handy when I don’t know how describe what’s happening in my brain. He knows what I mean without my even having to say it.

But none of this is really getting to the point. Which is this. Why can’t I write about it? Why is the point so damned convoluted for me? I know that the disorder is a chemical imbalance. I know that there are a multitude of causes and the real 100% cause isn’t even known – for now it’s considered a mixture of genetics, chemical flow in the brain, physiology, psychology, stressers… I know all of this. I’m glad to say I don’t buy into the social stigmas attached to the disorder or the idea to simply medicate it away… And yet, I can’t write about it. I can’t tell my story, despite my being proud to trumpet others who have done exactly the same with their own.

* Bipolar I Disorder is considered the more severe of the two including higher, more sustained jaunts of hypomania and a less consistent depressive side – for more information and a general overview of the disorder, click here.

One thing I’ve definitely gotten out of all of this? Last year, I didn’t think I was strong enough. I didn’t think I could do it. I didn’t think I rely on my loved ones, change my life for the better. Luckily, my family, my friends, and the people I have met since then have been patient enough to tell me over and over again.

I am strong enough. And I can do it. I’m pretty sure, actually, that I can do anything.

• In the last month, I’ve traveled over 2,000 miles.
• I’ve left a job.
• I’ve moved my entire life up the east coast.
• I’ve ended a relationship.
• I’ve been offered a new job (which I start tomorrow morning).
• I’ve got a basement in a beautiful house to do what I will with.
• I’ve left my Party (as I plan to register as an Independent as soon as I have proof of residency in Massachusetts).
• I’ve started seeing someone.
• I’ve reconnected with old friends.
• I’ve watched all three seasons of True Blood and read 7 of the Sookie Stackhouse books.

I have asked this question many times, but today it hits me harder than any recent curiosity could. What does one do post-Limbo? Is it a choice between Heaven and Hell as the religious would have us believe? I wrote a loose definition of Limbo when I founded this website, meant to be an open space for me and my fellow mid-twenties lost children to think out loud. Since then, I’ve allowed the page to evolve through music obsessions; chronicles of my restlessness and wanderlust. I’ve even had to admit on these pages that I am no longer in my mid-twenties. Time marches on, I suppose, even in the ether of Limbo.

I think that’s something I didn’t understand when I began this blog. When I saw myself as eternally jaded and confused and 24. I dated musicians and drank too much and threw what few rules I had lived by out the window. I wore leggings and headbands and chain-smoked menthols in my knock-off Ray Bans. True, I still wear cheap plastic sunglasses, and I still smoke menthols, but looking back on the years I’ve spent in Limbo, I think I might have missed the point.

I’ve got some ideas, and some tough questions for myself, but it’d really help to know what you think. Check out my pontifications on life, Limbo, and moving forward, and let me know what you think after the jump…

It’s about growth. Limbo is an infinite space. It’s shitty deals and hard work and learning lessons you wish you never had to. It’s long roads and longer nights and you feel like nothing can even lift you up out of it or bring you down off your natural high. But as you grow, as Limbo does its job, you might not need it anymore.

You might not need to move every couple of months just because you’re feeling claustrophobic and twitchy. You might find you really do believe things you’ve always rebelled against. You might figure out that you’re okay with all of that and that Chick Corea was right and “that truth is basically simple and feels good, clear and right.”

But what do you do when you’ve staked your personality, your lifestyle, your relationships on this idea of freedom? Floating? When you’re ready to take steps toward becoming a real, whole, complete adult? I feel at a loss. I feel like I should admit I’m nearly 27, admit that I’ve just made what will surely be my permanent move (which, by the way, went fantastically), and that recently I’ve made decisions that will shape my life and my relationships forever. I need to admit these things. I need to wrap my dizzy brain around them, embrace them as who I am as I near the end of Limbo. I see the light at the end of the tunnel, it’s getting bigger as I draw closer, but I ask myself, am I ready?

My 3rd Appreciation of the Awesome (even on Days Off I’m over-achieving!) goes to Airport Reunions. Movies have highlighted them (when even Dogma sees the cool in something, you gotta give it props, and what women in the world doesn’t melt at the mention of Love, Actually?), industries have popped up around them, the TSA probably loathes them… But there is nothing like the feeling of getting a plane, achy and tired and cranky and well-traveled, and looking up to see people you love waiting for you. Read more, including some of my favorite airport moments, after the jump!

My mom always brought a Dunkin Donuts coffee for me (regular, for those of you from New England). My nephews always tackle me. One time, in Colorado Springs, after hours without rest or a smoke break (after three airports, a sunrise cab ride, and two timezones) I had the pleasure of meeting my Godson for the first time (he was 6 days old) because his parents decided to bring him to the airport for my arrival.

When I moved back to the States from Rome, my mom surprised me by picking up my long-distance then-boyfriend from his college and making the drive to Boston together (he’d gotten rid of his mohawk and worn a suit, I almost didn’t recognize him!). They both had Christmas presents with them.

One of my favorite trips to pick someone up from the airport, Valentine’s weekend two years ago, my BFF was driving me to BWI to pick up my Valentine and our car (a ’74 Italian Mini) set on fire on the highway! There was Tina-screaming, lots of cursing from my bestie as he attempted to put out the sparking whatever-it-was and fix the problem, and a delayed reunion but goodness did we have fun.

I love how no matter how long or short it’s been, no matter the trip or the distance, my mom will cry when we meet up at the airport, and again when we part. I love having help from family with luggage. I love how uncomfortable my brother looks no matter how happy he is to see loved ones, he hates travel. I love stopping to get McDonalds (I rarely do fast food) or a stiff drink in the terminal.

I love the inescapable feeling of your lungs filling up almost too full with the scent of those you’ve missed. In the winter, everyone wearing their huge coats, pea coats that are too long, big boots and everything is slushy from the weather outside (can you tell I’ve only lived on the east coast?). I love that when I got off the plane in Miami, from spending a summer in Havana for work, I only had the clothes on my back and my dancing heels because my other shoes had gone missing throughout my stay – my mom didn’t even notice.

All your cares, all your travels, your soreness, the stress of strangers and terminals and heavy bags and air conditioning and scratchy blankets and watery cocktails — absolutely all of it melts away once you’re in their arms. Once you hear their voices, shouting and laughing and asking how the flight went and bickering in old ways that only loved ones can. These moments are truly Made of Awesome. I’d love to hear your stories, your favorite reunions, your favorite airports. Let’s take a moment to Appreciate the Awesome together in the comments!

As an extra emotive bonus, I’m even going to try to put them in order and context, we’ll see just how I’ve really felt over the last 12 months, eh? First things first: Limbo is an emo little hipster, isn’t she? Lykke Li – Possibility; Within Temptation – All I Need; 30 Seconds to Mars – The Kill; Placebo – Running Up That Hill; & Moby – Temptation.

I move from depressed and thoughtful to resolute and fun-loving, after the jump…

I started 2010 determined and overwhelmed, excited for all the possibility open to me but weighed down by the work it would take to really make it all happen. My music selection trended toward the mellow, thoughtful, and heartbroken. I was excited to feel real love again, for the first time in years, and it just wasn’t happening. I accepted the fact that things happen in their own time, but my heart felt heavy with the loneliness that only a full packed schedule and unsuccessful dating life can burden us with. My first transition of the year, from corporate life to the campaign trail full time, needed this kind of music. Li’s “Possibility” played on near constant rotation to soothe my nerves and battle my anxiety; powerhouse vocals from Within Temptation and 30 Seconds to Mars gave me a chance to sing loudly with all of my ambition, aggression, and struggle.

June came around and I found myself in transition #2. I first said goodbye to D.C., spending my last week with the people I have spent the last decade of my life loving. If it hadn’t been for music, and very long car rides by myself, I don’t know that I would have made it. My playlist for this period was nostalgic, ranging from The Magnetic Fields to Augustana’s “Boston“. I even let myself fall for OAR all over again, though I thought I’d left my sentimental love of “Love and Memories” back in college.

At the beginning of my move, I landed in South Carolina (Myrtle, woot, woot!) with my parents. I embraced country living with Darius Rucker’s latest releases and Lady Antebellum’s whiskey-soaked ode to love & loss, “Need You Now”. Upon moving to the 757, my job at hip hop club Blurr introduced me to genres of music I’d never explored before. Hip hop, electronica, top 40 remixes, house… My eyes were opened to a lifestyle I’d never come near before, in my country upbringing and my yuppie years in Washington. I realized one can be an indie music snob and still rock out to Ke$ha and that P!nk may be pregnant but girl still knows how to get a crowd on its feet.

Nelly’s disc 5.0 and Eminem’s Recovery blew my mind. Thoughtful storytelling lyrics, sweeping instrumental melodies, and solid rao verses kept me coming back for more all summer and fall. DJs like Skrillex, Deadmau5, & Tiesto got into my head leaving me dizzy and energized. Specific tracks like Medison’s “Harry” and Freestylers’ “Cracks” drove through me regulating my breathing, making my heart race for months; I can’t be more grateful to The Boyfriend for introducing me to them.

As 2010 came to a close, I settled into my older tastes as I settled into life in the 757 and my new routines here. Train’s Save Me San Fransisco (with their usual southern twist on pop/rock), The Pretty Reckless (with raunchy guitar licks and sultry tones), and Maximo Park (classic pop/rock in the vein of the Goo Goo Dolls, Matchbox Twenty, Third Eye Blind, and Sister Hazel come to mind) took over my play list as my comfort level got back to normal and the moving around insanity of the last 12 months came to an end. The likes of Brandon Flowers & Muse replaced John Mayer & Kings of Leon, and I feel better off for it – there’s something more mature, more mellow and well-rounded about my music taste as I start 2011, I think.

Here’s hoping 2011 continues in the same pattern – feeling more settled, more solid, more content with each passing day.